


Minutes to Midnight

by Silvertongue



Category: Pacific Rim (2013), Warehouse 13
Genre: Artifact fic, Crossover, Episode: s04e01 A New Hope, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-19
Updated: 2014-02-19
Packaged: 2018-01-13 02:48:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 637
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1209907
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Silvertongue/pseuds/Silvertongue
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It shouldn't be surprising that an organisation formed from the ashes of the Library of Alexandria held a great deal of sensitive or dangerous information.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Minutes to Midnight

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own anything of Warehouse 13 or Pacific Rim. The rights belong to their respective creators and I don't use them for any means of fiscal gain.

It shouldn't be surprising that an organisation formed from the ashes of the Library of Alexandria held a great deal of sensitive or dangerous information. Safeguarded over the years by the Regents, the Caretaker and the agents of the Warehouse themselves. And while the Regents steered the course of the Warehouse now, it hadn't always been that way. The Caretaker had existed as long as the Warehouse itself, since the fires of the Eldinarri had been stoked in Warehouse 1, and as such the role came with secrets that no one else was privy to; passed from Caretaker to Caretaker.

One such secret had been demanding Mrs. Frederic's attention for the past few hours. The Warehouse was calling her back. She walked down the Umbilicus, the pull getting stronger, each step echoing off the walls. The door to Artie's office opened unbidden as she approached it; closing softly behind her as she stepped inside. Artie was slumped over his desk, head in his hands, muttering to himself. 

There was an extra level of awareness that came with being attached to an entity like the Warehouse. As a result of this, it was easy to warp perception within it, until she was filtered out of it. Artie didn't move as she strode past.

She placed a hand on the door set into the far wall. There was a gentle click as the door opened. She stepped through, the vague sense of disorientation passing quickly as she crossed the threshold.

The room, if it could truly be called that, was pitch black except for a single shaft of white light. Suspended within it was a large rectangular object made from a bronze coloured metal, tarnished with age and wear. 

It had been found floating in the Pacific Ocean, off the coast of what would eventually become Hong Kong, during the time of Warehouse 3. No plausible point of origin had ever been established. The agents of the day had quickly extracted it and moved it to the Warehouse. 

Each part of it bore a number zero, below that the labels ‘Years’, ‘Months’, ‘Weeks’, ‘Days’, ‘Hours’, ‘Minutes’ and ‘Seconds’. A timer. It's digits had been frozen when it had first been discovered but as soon as it was placed in the Warehouse the clock reset. Counting down to some unknown date. It had reached zero on the day that an Artifact had given Mount Vesuvius an unstable molten core. Again the clock had reset, this time reaching zero the day that Rome burned. 

Upon realisation of it's true abilities, the Regents had decided that the burden of such foreknowledge was too much to be held over the heads of all those involved with the Warehouse. Instead all records of it were expunged and it was entrusted to the Caretaker alone.

Mrs. Frederic has seen the clock reset numerous times since becoming the Caretaker over a century ago but the threats were becoming more and more frequent. MacPhearson's assault on the Warehouse and liberation of HG Wells; the activation of the Minoan Trident; Walter Sykes and his vendetta against the Regents. 

But now something was amiss. The clock was in constant motion, the panels flipping back and forth. Zero to some time weeks away and back to zero again, almost as if it couldn't decide. 

Something was very wrong and she'd be fool not to think it wasn't connected to the other strange occurrences she had noticed. The strange sense of deja vu that had gripped her since she had left the B&B and the grey stripe in her hair that had appeared at the same time. 

She turned sharply on her heel. She needed to talk to Artie.

As the door closed behind her, the clock came to a final juddering halt. 

****

‘00:06:02:00:08:14:45’


End file.
